Breathe and Blow Life
by Nagia
Summary: 'Aoshi-sama, I'm pregnant.'
1. May 1883

The spring breeze struck and darted and drifted like a playful wall of cherry scent. Pink petals got stuck in Misao's hair – and wound up complementing the kimono and hakama she'd worn; funny that – and dusted along Aoshi-sama's suit. Aoshi-sama didn't move to brush them off, though Misao ran her fingers through her ponytail to comb the blossoms out.

The dishes Yahiko-kun brought from the Akabeko didn't really compare to what she and Shiro and Kuro whipped up most nights at the Aoi-ya, but they looked tasty enough. The yakitori especially made her mouth water. Or maybe her mouth was watering because she was going to be sick. It had been really hard to tell the last few weeks.

Pity Yahiko-kun had only brought sake. She'd corner the boy later and see if he'd done it on purpose or if he'd just plain forgotten about Aoshi-sama.

Megumi insisted on pouring the sake for everyone, laughing fondly at the way Kaoru-san rolled her eyes. She offered a cup to Aoshi-sama, but he shook his head once, declining.

"We don't drink," Misao said, carefully setting a few slices of ginger on her plate.

"Uhm," Tsubame said. "Yahiko-san and I also brought tea."

Misao had a feeling that what Tsubame really meant was that she had brought the tea and Yahiko had wanted to hurry to Mount Ueno. But she didn't point it out. She just gratefully accepted the teapot and poured tea for Aoshi-sama and herself.

She managed to get the tea down and keep it there. Smiling broadly at the way Kenji tried to catch floating cherry blossoms helped her to swallow every time her roiling belly tried to visit. The ginger helped, too. She had a feeling she'd need some for the train ride back to Kyoto.

Conversation was light and easy. Megumi hadn't really kept in touch with Misao, but Kaoru-san wrote to the Aoi-ya all the time. Himura scribbled little extra notes onto her letters, usually in handwriting so bad she had to enlist Kuro's help making sense of it.

Even after five years, it was still like family. Even Aoshi-sama seemed at ease.

Misao looked up at the trees, suddenly reminded of other spring afternoons.

Kenji startled them all with a shrill toddler squeal, the kind that could destroy eardrums. He had stumbled all the way to the base of a tree and was now banging his chubby little hands against the bark. "Up, up, up," he demanded of them all.

Yahiko made a sour face. "It's time to eat, Kenji. We'll climb later."

"Up," Kenji wailed. Then he scrunched his tiny face and began to cry. He was a tiny wisp of a short thing, but he had lungs like a pearl diver.

Misao almost put her hands over her ears.

Yahiko grumbled and surged to his feet. But even after he stalked over to Kenji and scooped him up, the damage was done. Kenji shrieked like he was in pain, long enough that she almost expected his face to change colors.

Aoshi-sama stood and crossed over to them. He held his arms out for Kenji, who mirrored the gesture instantly.

Yahiko sighed mightily and handed him over. For his part, Kenji tangled a fist in Aoshi-sama's bangs and stopped crying. He seemed to be studying Aoshi-sama, as if unsure of what Aoshi-sama even was, or maybe expecting him to suddenly make all the trees climbable and all the grown ups forget about eating or looking at the flowers.

Kenji said, "Up."

Aoshi-sama carefully pulled his hair away from Kenji's hand, then lifted Kenji up over his head for a moment.

Kenji made a shrill noise, but he was smiling.

Aoshi-sama pressed a finger to his lips and lifted him again, then settled the toddler on his hip and made his way back to the rest of them. He sat back down and propped Kenji in his lap.

Misao couldn't help but smile at the way Kenji stared at everyone from Aoshi-sama's lap. His eyes were wide and almost startled – and grew wider when Misao leaned in to tickle him a little. He squealed and squirmed.

"Huh," Yahiko said. "He actually likes you guys. He never likes strangers."

"Maybe you should move closer to Tokyo," Kaoru-san said, smiling and lacing her fingers in Himura's. "You'd obviously be great babysitters."

Aoshi-sama's eyes narrowed for a moment before he said, "We are here once a season. It's best we spend the rest of the year in Kyoto."

"We're needed there," Misao added. "I don't think Jiya would ever forgive us if we up and left." Although if he kept nagging them about when he would get to hear the pitter-patter of little feet in the Aoi-ya's halls…

Well. He nagged Aoshi-sama more than he nagged her.

"I expect he would not, that I do." Himura smiled and squeezed Kaoru-san's hand. "I understand you are both quite busy, but it would be nice to see you often as we once did, that it would."

"It'd be nice to see you guys more often, too," Misao said.

The rest of the afternoon slipped past in a springy haze. Aoshi-sama kept Kenji entertained with simple sleight-of-hand, catching cherry blossoms to palm and then re-produce from behind Kenji's ear or nowhere at all. Megumi and Kaoru-san kept her abreast of the news in Tokyo, while Misao described some of the prettier new fashions she'd seen on the streets of Kyoto.

Such as, for example, wealthy, dainty housewives wearing colorful hakama.

Kaoru-san accepted a cup of tea Himura poured for her and asked with a conspiratory wink, "So when are you two getting married?"

Next to her, Aoshi-sama went stiff for a moment. Misao rolled her eyes.

"We _are_ married, Kaoru-san."

"You didn't invite me to the wedding." _Like I invited you to mine_, Kaoru-san didn't say but Misao heard anyway.

"It wasn't much of a wedding."

Aoshi-sama studiously returned his attention to Kenji and the cherry blossoms.

"Tae-san got a letter from Sae-san all about how you were getting married and there were guests just pouring into town from all over a whole season before the wedding even happened. Don't tell me it wasn't much of a wedding."

"That was business," Misao said, and that seemed to end the conversation. For now, at least. Until Misao could get Aoshi-sama to agree to a second, much less expensive and more private ceremony, she had no doubt that this would be sort of a point of contention between them.

An hour or so later, the afternoon turned from sweetly brisk to outright cold, and not even Aoshi-sama's inexplicable charm could keep Kenji from growing fussy. Misao, Tsubame, and Megumi helped Karou-san pack up the picnic while Yahiko tried to keep Kenji occupied.

Misao hurried away from Aoshi-sama to catch Megumi as they all left. She could feel Aoshi-sama's eyes on her as she gently touched Megumi's arm to catch her attention.

"Megumi-san," she said, trying to keep her voice low. "I hate to ask you to act as a doctor when you're just visiting friends. But can I see you a little later this week?"

Megumi looked intently at her. After a moment, she gave Misao a sharp and yet encouraging smile. "Well, if you must, you must. Come by Gensai's clinic in the afternoon sometime."

* * *

It didn't compare to Kyoto – nothing could ever compare to her beautiful, beautiful hometown – but Tokyo really was pretty in spring: the sunlight glittered on the tiled roofs, the trees and flowers were all in first bloom. The entire city was a rainbow riot of color. Everywhere she looked she saw green and pink – or blue, or violet, or red and orange. Misao took her time wandering the streets, just enjoying the fresh sunshine and the sights.

But even her slow feet had to carry her to her destination eventually.

Misao pulled open the door to Gensai's clinic, leaving her shoes by the door.

Megumi was in one of the front rooms, drinking a cup of tea. When she caught sight of Misao, she set the tea cup down and stood. A faintly amused smile quirked along her lips.

Misao pointed. "You think you know what this is about."

"Well, yes. A married woman asks to see a female friend who happens to be a doctor, privately, about a medical issue? Either you've developed a suspicious rash you don't want Shinomori to see, or…"

"I do not have any suspicious rashes!"

Megumi laughed. "I didn't really think you did. Come on back. I'll need to examine you and ask intrusive questions. I've warmed the room up, at least."

The exam room was definitely warm. Misao saw a low bench or table – probably to lay patients out on – and a few clean linens, some buckets and other instruments.

Megumi strode into the room with a confident, measured pace. "Well, let's get started. Off with it all."

"Everything?!"

"Everything. That's why the room is warm." Megumi clapped her hands together. "Hurry up! We have places to go after this, you know."

Misao sighed and untied her hakama – a deep green with white vines and pink flowers painted trailing up the sides – stepping out of it before unwinding her obi and shrugging out of her kimono. She pulled aside the sarashi and folded everything neatly, or at least so it would be quick to get back into.

Megumi's eyes trailed down her form and landed on the slight roundness near the bottom of her abdomen. It wasn't a fattening stomach.

"This what you thought I was asking you about, right? I mean, it's probably either a tumor or –"

Megumi held up a hand. "When were your last courses?"

Oh boy. Misao shrugged. That didn't impress Megumi – seriously, that was a scary, scary look – and so she started counting back on her fingers. "Four, five months ago?"

"There is no way you're five months along." Megumi stopped, considering. "Before they stopped completely, were they… regular?"

"Not really," Misao admitted. "Omasu said my mother's skipped around a lot, too."

"Well, it could be the fact that you weigh less than a bird. Or an irregular cycle may just run in your mother's family." Megumi tapped a finger against her lip, thinking. "Any other symptoms?"

"I've been more tired than usual. Kind of moody. Feel queasy all the time, especially around fish."

Megumi nodded, then raised an eyebrow. Clearly she remembered that Misao usually handled the sushi or sashimi with any meal at the Aoi-ya.

Misao gave a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Poor Shiro's had to take over all the fish prep back home. I can't even help Himura with it tonight."

"I assume you're eating a lot of ginger?"

"Yep."

"Any soreness, tenderness, pain?"

Misao poked the side of one of her breasts and winced. "Up here. I'm lucky Aoshi-sama isn't really –"

"Stop. Stop right there." Megumi closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I didn't need to hear that."

"Sorry."

"I'll forgive you. But no more details like that, please. There are things I really do not need to imagine." Megumi placed two fingers on the bump, poking and prodding.

The poking and prodding went on a long time, and wasn't just limited to her skin. Misao breathed out through her nose and forced herself not to jerk away. At last, Megumi washed her hands in a little basin and turned to Misao. "I think we both know what I'm about to say."

"So I'm…? I mean… You're sure? I can be sure?"

"You'll want to find a good midwife in Kyoto. I wish I could volunteer, but..." Megumi trailed off. There were new laws about midwives and physicians. Megumi couldn't qualify as the former, and her license as the latter was tenuous.

Not to mention her practice was here in Tokyo.

"I'd start eating meat and drinking milk. If you get cravings for weird food, go ahead. It probably can't hurt. If you get cravings for anything that isn't food, don't eat it."

"I could actually crave something that isn't food?"

"Oh yes. I didn't train as a midwife, but I've heard all the stories. Chalk's popular. So is dirt."

"Well, dirt's pretty harmless, isn't it?" Misao felt a wicked smile curl along her mouth.

"If it isn't food," Megumi said again, this time in a severe tone, "don't eat it."

Misao didn't really think the warning had to be that severe. She couldn't see herself – especially not herself as a very pregnant woman - bending down to shove handfuls of dirt in her mouth. What on earth could make it seem tasty?

"All right," she said. "I promise I won't eat anything that isn't food."

"Good." Megumi waved her hands toward Misao's clothes. "Go ahead and get dressed. We might as well walk to the dojo together, hm?"

"Might as well," Misao agreed.

The news didn't really strike home until she was walking to the dojo. Megumi took tiny, graceful steps, not really bothering to hurry to keep up with Misao's longer strides. Still, Misao never entirely outpaced Megumi.

And it hit her. She had to stop moving, had to look away from the streets around her. With child. She was with child. This was actually happening; it wasn't a dream, wasn't some castle in the sky she'd spun as a girl to keep herself occupied.

She was going to have to tell Aoshi-sama soon. He'd been kind enough not to draw attention to the changes, apparently content to let her confirm it on her own without stressing either of them about it. For a moment, Misao was a little giddy: not only was she Aoshi-sama's wife, she was going to be the mother of his child.

This was huge. A whole new life, a whole new set of responsibilities, a whole new form of joy –

Aoshi-sama was leaning outside the Kamiya dojo's gate. He straightened as they drew near. His gaze flicked over both of them, then rested heavily on Misao. She felt trapped by his eyes, clear and perfect, contrasting with the ink black of his bangs.

She couldn't stop the smile that warmed her face, not that she would have tried. "Aoshi-sama."

"Misao," he said in the soft tone – like his mouth was lingering over the word – that made her shiver. After half a heartbeat, he added a brusque, perfunctory, "Takani."

He suspected. She could see it in the heat in his eyes.

Misao's smile widened. "Aoshi-sama. Were you waiting long?"

"No. Not long."

"Good." She stood just a little way away from him, turned to look up at him. She hardly noticed Megumi push past her to make her way inside. She was too entranced by the way Aoshi-sama was looking back at her.

He definitely suspected. But he didn't seem nervous – well, not very nervous – or upset. He'd probably see it as good news. Probably.

"Aoshi-sama, we should talk a little later tonight. It's kind of serious."

"Aa," he said.

And then they went in. Dinner happened. It started the moment Himura set the last plates on the table and went on until well after sundown. But for Misao, it passed in a fog: what she said, what anyone else said, what she ate… She knew she was participating. She knew she probably even seemed like herself. But none of it penetrated, none of it struck her the way that one sudden new fact did.

In the end, she found herself sitting at a near-deserted table, watching the moon rise over the darkened courtyard. Kaoru-san and Kenji were gone. Yahiko knelt outside, near the the basin by the well, and methodically dunked and scrubbed something. Dishes, she guessed.

Someone placed a hand on her shoulder. Misao half jumped, instinctively tensing until she realized that she recognized the heartbeat of the man behind her.

"Aoshi-sama?"

"Aa," he said. His tone was bland, patient, but she thought she heard some kind of an edge to it. Anticipation, maybe? Worry about why and how his wife had suddenly gone mixed up and moon-brained?

"Time for us to go, I guess. I think I must have been sleeping with my eyes open."

Aoshi-sama didn't dignify that with a response, though his expression softened again.

* * *

She and Aoshi-sama stopped at the door to pull on heavier outer layers. The days were brisk and balmy, but nights could still be chilly.

Aoshi-sama had been kind enough to bring her haori, tucked away in his enormous coat by some piece of ninja magic, or perhaps just his ability to be ultra-prepared. The day had been so warm when she'd left the Yuri-ya that she hadn't thought to take it.

Misao smiled at him as they made their way through Tokyo's darkened streets. It was a good thing they didn't pass many people on their way back to the Yuri-ya. Aoshi-sama tensed every time the street failed to be empty and tensed more if anyone passed too close to them.

"The crime in this town can't be worse than Kyoto," she murmured to him, just a few blocks from their inn.

"I have fewer connections here."

Misao cocked her head. True, the Yuri-ya was only a year or so old, and the visible staff were all younger agents with out-of-town accents. Of course it hadn't made all the inroads into Tokyo's criminal underworld that Aoshi-sama would like. But he'd said _he_ didn't have connections, when he'd lived here for years.

After a moment, as if sensing her question, he murmured, "Street criminals die quickly. Those who would remember me have either died or moved up."

Other women might not have found that open allusion to an intimidating criminal past endearing. And Misao wasn't exactly overjoyed about the man in whose employ Aoshi-sama had spent most of that past. But he was so determined to use his stature in Japan's many and sundry shadow worlds to keep the street vermin _away_ from them – when they both knew that vermin approached them at their peril.

And that was downright sweet, in a paranoid ninja way. Sweet enough that she felt warm and fuzzy all the way back to the Yuri-ya. If Aoshi-sama had any idea what she was thinking, he didn't mention it. Not even to remind her that paranoid ninja sweetness was still dangerous and came from a side of the soul he'd rather she never experienced.

The Yuri-ya staff made a point of not recognizing them as anything but relatively frequent patrons, at least during business hours. So when she and Aoshi-sama stepped through the door and slipped their shoes off, they were greeted with polite disinterest. Just the way Aoshi-sama liked it.

They made their way up to their room, still ignoring and ignored by the staff. Misao shut the door to their surprisingly spacious room behind her, shucked her haori, and smiled.

"You know, I've got this feeling," she murmured, maybe a litle sing-song.

Aoshi-sama tucked his coat away, then stripped his woolen socks, business jacket, and tie. He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

"That maybe they gave us the best room in the house?"

"You haven't explored them all?"

"Aoshi-sama! Go inspecting every room in a ryokan I don't run?" She feigned a scandalized tone, then smiled helplessly. "Please don't tell me this is some sort of courtesy they're extending."

"More a practicality," he replied. "Love matches amongst the Oniwabanshuu are rare."

In other words, the Yuri-ya staff were expecting them to carry on without regard for noise.

"They gave us this room so we wouldn't disturb other guests? Seriously?" Misao tilted her head and looked up at Aoshi-sama, considering.

He pounced first. It wasn't exactly rare for him – he'd never pretended disinterest, not even when they'd been working out the complications of a too-public, too-impersonal wedding – but still worth note. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Later, Misao curled her ankle over Aoshi-sama's to hook a blanket. She used her foot to draw it up over his knee and pillowed her head on his chest. They hadn't made it to bed, though they'd sort of been close. If she counted the fact that they'd landed just shy of the futon with their feet at its bottom edge.

Aoshi-sama grabbed the blanket and dragged it up over her shoulder. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back to the floor, all his strength seemingly spent by the effort.

She wasn't fooled. Maybe other men would be completely exhausted, but sex seemed to reawaken Aoshi-sama's thoughts. And if his mind was abuzz, he was perfectly capable of telling exhaustion to go take a nap.

"You missed me today."

"Aa," he said, voice drowsy.

"You remember I said we needed to talk?"

"Aa."

Misao shifted so she could see his eyes. They weren't dull or heavy-lidded. In fact, judging by the intelligent glint to them, he was wide awake and alert.

"You're pretending to be tired and I have important news," she murmured.

He lolled his head and raised an eyebrow without bothering to open his eyes. He really could be impossible, sometimes.

Well, if he was going to be stubborn about it...

"Aoshi-sama, I'm pregnant."

His eyes shot open.


	2. May 1883 - II

Aoshi-sama didn't say anything for a while. Despite the length of his wide-eyed silence, when he spoke, his voice was calm. "I see."

"You suspected, didn't you?"

Aoshi-sama skimmed his hand from her shoulder down along her body, the pads of his fingers scuffing along her sternum without touching either of her breasts, before finally cupping his hand over her stomach. It wasn't a very large bump, not at all noticeable when she was dressed. But Aoshi-sama was an observant man, and even a small bump was obvious when her stomach had been entirely flat for the three years of their marriage.

"Aa," he said. After a moment, he asked, "You're sure?"

Misao laughed and kissed his cheek. "Megumi-san is sure, and I can't think of a better doctor."

"Takani has made mistakes before."

"If you're talking about that awful puppet," Misao started to say. Aoshi-sama breathed a sigh against her hair, and they both fell silent for a while.

"You trust Takani?"

"Himura and Kaoru-san trust her."

He sighed again and placed both his hands on her back, as if ready to settle them both in for a nap. But he said: "We can't sleep like this."

"Sure we can," Misao replied, admittedly to the junction of his neck and shoulder. "It's our room in our inn."

Aoshi-sama mumbled, "Not what I meant."

Misao fell asleep anyway.

* * *

She woke the next morning alone in bed. A single purple streamer of silk lay in the place Aoshi-sama would have slept.

Misao blinked sleepily, ran her fingers along the swatch of fabric and sighed. He was gone for the day on Oniwabanshuu business. Of course he was. And she'd wanted to discuss this whole 'pregnant' thing a bit more. They were looking at a huge change in their lives; shouldn't they have been preparing for it?

Ah, well. Misao rose and pulled on a yukata. She should at least wash Aoshi-sama's scent from her skin before she went to visit Kaoru-san.

A few hours later, she sat in the warm mid-morning sunlight with her legs dangling from the Kamiya dojo's engawa, watching a few students drill strikes.

"Inoue's going to hurt tomorrow," Yahiko offered from a few feet away.

Misao had no idea which one Inoue was. She'd rather assumed they'd all end up sore.

Yahiko pointed at a younger teen who seemed to struggle with his swings.

"How high are they going up to?"

"A hundred. Then sparring, a run, fifty swings, and then they're done." Yahiko eyed her. "You sparring Kaoru-sensei?"

Of course she wanted to spar; sparring with Kaoru-san was always one of the bright spots in her trips to Tokyo, even more than shopping. But she and Kaoru-san were in the same tier in their respective arts, and matches with Kaoru-san could go any one of a dozen different ways, depending on anything from wind direction to weather to Misao's first meal. Misao imagined trying to explain knowing she was carrying a child and choosing to spar - knowing that she could be struck in the stomach, could fall, could exhaust or hurt herself - to Aoshi-sama or to Kaoru-san or even to herself in the mirror.

"Not today, I think."

"Huh, you must be married if you're going soft on us. What, would you rather shop this afternoon or something?"

Normally, she'd smack the back of his head for that entire comment. One, she was definitely married and how dare he imply that she wasn't? For another, what was this 'going soft' crap?

But all she could think was _Kid, if only you knew_ and instead of building up steam for a really good yelling match, she laughed. A lot. Pretty much uncontrollably, actually.

Yahiko eyed her like she'd gone off ranting about fire and the government and the weak being food for the strong.

Misao waved a hand, trying to explain, but then she had to wipe tears from her eyes and suck in a breath. "Don't ask. I'm fine."

* * *

It took every ounce of self-control she'd developed not to fling herself at Kaoru-san and shriek the news. She'd been awaiting this for years, it seemed. But Okon and Omasu would kill her if they weren't the first to know, and Kaoru-san would just start worrying at that whole 'marriage' point of contention between them again.

So she didn't say anything. Not during the class, not after the class. She just politely declined the spar and headed to the train station rather than go shopping. She bought some stationery and wrote a quick, coded message for Omasu and Okon, then charmed a businessman headed for Kyoto into delivering it to the Aoi-ya.

It always kind of astounded her how easy it was to convince men who weren't Aoshi-sama to do as she asked. All it took was a smile and a sultry voice, and this particular mark ignored the fact that she dressed like she was married.

He smiled back and accepted the letter, his own voice dropping to a burr he probably thought was attractive. Like he actually had half a chance.

She caught sight of Aoshi-sama as she left the station, but one look at his posture told her not to approach him. He was stiff - meaning irritated or preparing to handle a threat - and surrounded by a trio of western men. None of the gathering looked any happier than Aoshi-sama.

So she walked breezily past, stopping only to buy a few strips of yakitori from a disreputable-looking street vendor. She tried to eat them slowly, but the meat was absolutely delicious. Something about the salt he'd covered the chicken in before grilling it... She'd have to ask Segihara-san at the Shirobeko for tips on cooking meat once they were back in Kyoto.

The sound of laughter interrupted her thoughts. She turned to the sound and saw one of the westerners with Aoshi-sama reach out to clap him on the back.

Misao cringed at the very thought. He wasn't particularly fond of casual touch. Before they'd married, she wouldn't have dreamed of touching him without permission. Even now, she didn't touch Aoshi-sama without giving him ample time to move away - and she certainly never touched him in public.

Even from a distance, she could see him go absolutely rigid. His every muscle was straining against the instinct to remove a threat.

After a moment, he relaxed. And caught sight of her.

Misao tilted her head, shrugging a little to let him know she'd follow his lead.

Aoshi-sama turned to speak to one of his associates without acknowledging her. Guess he wanted her as far away from these obnoxious fellows as possible.

Misao left.

* * *

Hours later, after Aoshi-sama's return from whatever business he'd conducted, he watched her in the comfort of their rented room. He hadn't changed from the western suit, but he had at least discarded the tie. They planned visit the Kamiya dojo for tea and conversation tonight, rather than anything as formal as dinner.

"What were you doing at the station?" Aoshi-sama's tone was brusque, flat. He wanted a straight answer and he wanted it quickly.

"Conning some idiot into playing courier. I thought I might as well get the dirt on decent midwives in Kyoto."

Aoshi-sama raised an eyebrow. "You expect Okon or Omasu to have such details?"

"I know, I know." Misao stopped brushing her hair long enough to flutter a hand. "Okon prides herself on having never once been pregnant in her life. But she gossips."

He shot her what passed for an amused look. (Expressiveness would never be his strong suit. She was okay with that. Honestly, she wouldn't have him any other way.)

"Alright, not about business. But I promise you, if something's happening outside the family that Okina doesn't have his fingers in," here, Misao levelled her hairbrush at Aoshi-sama, who still looked mildly amused, "Okon either knows about it or knows someone who knows. And if Okon isn't in contact, then Omasu is. "

With that, she pulled her hair back into a low bun. "Right, I'm ready to leave when you are."

Aoshi-sama's mouth softened. He offered her the haori she'd forgotten yesterday before he shrugged into his coat.


	3. May 1883 - III

Everything seemed easier when Aoshi-sama was around: the streets looked safer, it was easier to smile and laugh. On the walk to Kaoru-san's, Misao had to resist the temptation to reach for him. They walked close together, which mostly meant that Misao had the opportunity to huddle out of the spring wind in Aoshi-sama's bulk.

If they'd been the only two people in the city, she might well have walked to the Kamiya dojo bundled up with Aoshi-sama in his coat. But they weren't, and no ninja liked to advertise connections such as they had. So far as the world was concerned, she was either a companion, a stepping-stone to property, or a woman married out of filial duty. Aoshi-sama's cautious nature could never allow anyone to believe she would be an effective hostage.

Their child, though — or her, if she was visibly pregnant — but their child, definitely, always and forever —

Her breath froze in her throat. The son or daughter of Shinomori Aoshi and Makimachi Misao would always be in danger. And they hadn't even talked about that. She really was going to corner him once they got back to the Yuri-ya.

The dojo gate stood wide open. From within, she could hear Kenji shrieking (whether with delight or dismay was impossible to say) and Kaoru-san's soothing murmur. A moment later she heard Himura add a wry comment, which set Kenji right back to howling.

Misao turned to look at Aoshi-sama. Aoshi-sama looked back at her. Misao got the distinct impression that they were both thinking the same thing: _I really hope this isn't what we're in for._

Trying to raise a noisy, fussy, inconsolable child would be physically painful to Oniwaban-trained ears.

"Second thoughts, Aoshi-sama?" Not that there was any use regretting anything now.

"No." He said. His mouth quirked into the expression he'd used to bolster the confidence of his men, one of his ancient 'buck up' smirks. "Your child will be good-natured and easily amused."

"When he isn't, I'm leaving him with you," she said.

"He?"

"Only a boy would be inconsiderate enough to make me hate fish."

Aoshi-sama's smirk vanished. But she saw a glint in his eye that warmed her up inside. He was amused, even if he wasn't about to show it.

* * *

Tea passed quickly. Yahiko was still in for a visit — with Tsubame this time — and, since none of Kaoru-san's students were around, he was back to his usual self. Megumi was in, too. She watched Misao and Aoshi-sama with a wicked smile curving her lips. But almost all Megumi's smiles were a little wicked.

Thankfully, nobody asked Megumi just what she found so entertaining about Himura whisking tea.

She did regale them with stories about the mishaps of her afternoon patient. Some poor soul with an apparently oft-broken nose had been hit by a jinrikisha, which wouldn't have been funny except a bolt of silk he'd bought for a mistress had somehow tangled up in the wheels. He'd stumbled away with a broken collarbone and then gone _back_, nearly crushing his arm trying to retrieve it. And all so his wife wouldn't hear about it — because, apparently, she hated yellow with a passion.

"He just kept saying, 'My wife hates yellow. She'll know it wasn't for her,'" Megumi said with a laugh that tinkled like little chimes.

Misao chuckled dutifully, but beside her Aoshi-sama had gone still. She began racking her brain to recall what about yellow might set him off, but she couldn't.

"Was he wearing blue or purple?" Aoshi-sama asked, very quietly. "Western clothing? What was the silk's pattern?"

"No, I know he was dressed Japanese. I _think_ he had a purple obi," said Megumi, looking startled. "And I was too busy trying to save his arm to really notice the silk."

"Think back," Aoshi-sama said.

Megumi closed her eyes and was quiet a moment. "It was bright yellow and had something round stitched on it a few shades darker, like bronze. Bronze coins, maybe?"

Aoshi-sama stood. "I apologize. I'll return shortly."

They all stared at him as he left. And Misao remembered: yellow was the signature color of the Sanada. One of Aoshi-sama's Tokyo agents was working with the Sanada. Someone in the Yuri-ya was a traitor.

And if Aoshi-sama hadn't already been on edge from the still-fresh reformation of the clan, he had a brand new very good reason not to suffer treason within the Oniwabanshuu.

"I'm sorry for both of us. But this is important," she said, standing to bow. Aoshi-sama wouldn't be pleased to see her approaching the Yuri-ya just now. He'd left in order to keep her well out of it.

But she wasn't about to let him dispense Oniwaban justice alone.

Yahiko stood. too. "I'll walk you wherever you're going."

* * *

Misao reached the Yuri-ya to find it virtually deserted by staff. She heard heartbeats and breathing in the kitchen.

"Yahiko, go back to Kaoru-san and Himura."

"But —"

"This isn't a fight, and even if it was, it's not _your_ fight, Yahiko. This is Oniwabanshuu business."

"And if Shinomori's gone and —"

"He hasn't and he won't." She turned to give Yahiko a hard stare. "This is spy stuff, Yahiko. You and the Himuras are safest out of it. Go home."

After another few minute or so of debate, he finally left and Misao entered the kitchen.

The entire staff of the Yuri-ya was clustered around the staff dining table, where Aoshi-sama sat with a crooked-nosed fellow. Aoshi-sama had a cup of tea in his hands. The traitor with the broken nose stared down at a blank sheet of paper.

"Name your contact," Aoshi-sama said. His tone was bland, bored — not intentionally menacing at all. Which probably only made it scarier.

The man picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and began to write. His hands shook.

Aoshi-sama inclined his head. "And how did you contact him?"

More scribbles on the paper. Utter silence from the Yuri-ya staff. They were probably all acutely aware that any wrong word from the traitor could paint them all in his colors.

Aoshi-sama took it from him, inspecting it. "And you say you told him nothing?"

"Nothing, Aoshi-sama." The man's voice trembled. "I swear it."

"You lied to me. You placed my wife's safety in jeopardy. Why should I believe you?" She could see Aoshi-sama tense as he leaned forward, apparently ready to reach out and throttle the man before him. "Why should I spare your life?"

The traitor apparently had no good answer. He looked utterly stricken, as if the full consequences of his actions had finally dawned.

Aoshi-sama stood. "You will accompany us to Kyoto. You are now a mute, distantly related to Kashiwazaki Shirojo of the Aoi-ya. Speak to no one and _make no sound_ until I relieve you of that identity."

The traitor bowed his head. He trembled in his seat, though whether it was anger or fear, Misao couldn't have said.

* * *

In their room, Aoshi-sama stared hard at Misao. The only sign of his distress was the way his hands clenched into fists.

"Why did you follow? You knew why I left you with the Himuras."

"Because I know what Oniwabanshuu demands for traitors," she shot back. "And I know it would have _killed_ you to have to kill one of us. I wasn't about to make you face that alone."

"Better that I handle it than..." He trailed off.

Better that he handle it alone, he apparently thought, than she endanger herself and their child, or distract him at a crucial moment. And really, what could she say to that?

"You wouldn't have married me," she said. careful to keep her voice soft, unaccusing: a gentle reminder, not an argument, "if I was made of glass."

Aoshi-sama looked away. Slowly, slowly, he relaxed enough to sit, though he still didn't look in her direction. He wasn't happy with her, but it seemed that he was more worried than angry. The tension drained from his shoulders and his fists unclenched.

"We never really had a chance to talk last night." Misao said, quietly. "You're worried, aren't you?"

Part of her wanted to laugh the idea away. Aoshi-sama, afraid of anything that wasn't about to explode in his face? He would never be so weak. But it wasn't weakness to see a huge change in your life, an entire new life to protect, a new responsibility, and be more than a little nervous. Even fear seemed a pretty good reaction, honestly.

He sighed, but said nothing.

Misao sighed, too. She couldn't really expect him to want to talk right now. He'd just dealt with a traitor in the place they'd thought they were safest. At best this felt like a public space to him. At worst he felt distinctly unsafe here.

She moved forward, waited behind him a few moments before reaching out. He didn't move away, so she pressed her palms against his upper arms.

"Do you want to go home now?"

"Aa," he said. "We'll board a train tomorrow."

She kissed him very lightly on his temple. He allowed it, but didn't kiss her back. She understood: he was far too stressed. Any attempt at affection — or, heaven forbid, sex — would be just business, nothing more than Shinomori Aoshi fulfilling a role he'd been assigned. In this case, the role of loving husband.

So she eyed her clothes and her bags, then gave in and started packing.

* * *

The next day, they boarded a train for Kyoto. Misao sent one of the Yuri-ya staff running for the Kamiya dojo with a letter for Kaoru explaining that they had to leave, though not why.

Aoshi-sama settled onto one of the sleeper beds and closed his eyes, though Misao doubted he was truly asleep. For one, he didn't bother with the bed's hanging. For another, they were in an unsafe public space; Misao was pretty sure he wouldn't sleep again until they returned to the Aoi-ya. The traitor — now named Kashiwazaki Akamaru, whoever he had been in Tokyo — sat in a distant corner and watched them both.

So Misao joined Aoshi-sama — not like he'd want her anywhere else — and settled in for a nap.

The nap went pretty well, until the train began to sway from side to side as well as up and down. Misao's stomach reacted almost as hatefully as if she'd tried to eat fish.

She only had a few moments of warning. She sat up, trying to free herself from her blankets and scramble out of the sleeper bed with little luck. She clapped her hands over her mouth and made a muffled 'get away' noise to Aoshi-sama.

Her stomach tensed, then _heaved_, and she felt its contents force their way up through her throat. Vomit overflowed the barrier of her cupped fingers, onto her lap and Aoshi-sama's.

Aoshi-sama's expression did not change, even when she'd finished.

Misao lifted her face, gingerly, from her hands to look up at Aoshi-sama. Suddenly, dying of embarrassment seemed like a real possibility. Her stomach fluttery, she felt strangely dizzy and like every nerve was on fire, and she was pretty sure every drop of blood the child didn't need had all flooded into her face.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I was trying to get up and go somewhere else."

Why couldn't she have thrown up on Akamaru? He'd actually have deserved it.

Aoshi-sama said nothing. He was still absolutely expressionless. Hopefully, this kind of stillness meant he honestly didn't care. She couldn't imagine him actually _yelling_ at her, not in a thousand years, but she suddenly wondered if she would be sleeping alone until the child was born.

She heard Akamaru draw in a breath to speak. Aoshi-sama turned and stared him down. Akamaru closed his mouth, teeth clicking together.

She watched in silence as he rolled out of the sleeper bed and signaled to Akamaru to leave. He stripped his trousers, changing into a fresh pair, then wrapped the pair she'd been sick on in a jacket she knew he didn't much like. After a moment of fussing with his belt, he stepped closer to her, wordlessly offering the bag she'd packed.

"Aoshi-sama, I really —"

He placed a hand on her upper arm and shook his head.

She had just barely finished changing when Akamaru knocked and returned.

"She is often motion sick," Aoshi-sama lied immediately, tone and expression still placid.

And Misao realized that he trusted Akamaru so little that he didn't even want him knowing she was pregnant.

* * *

The train ride seemed to last forever. One of the train attendants brought her a bucket. Misao got the feeling that Akamaru was deeply amused by the indignity of the Okashira's wife throwing up in a bucket, even if he wasn't allowed to laugh. She shot him poisonous looks.

If he hadn't gone and betrayed the Oniwabanshuu when Aoshi-sama thought he was safe, Aoshi-sama wouldn't have insisted on taking the train. They could have walked or taken a boat or something.

Aoshi-sama stopped in the train station to talk to a nondescript teen. A few moments later, a pair of street urchins stole a valise from a traveller and burst from the station, running and shouting with the sort of glee that got young thieves caught.

Akamaru watched it all without his expression ever changing.

The Aoi-ya staff was lying in wait for them: Okina was sweeping the street just outside the inn's entrance, while Omasu and Okon loitered somewhere in the front hall, from the sound of it. There was a fourth heartbeat, too; Misao took a moment to place it before realizing it was Shiro, sounding nervous.

Okina, naturally, pounced first. He grabbed Misao up in his arms, swinging her easily and noogieing her just the way he did every time she returned from a trip. The noogie was a little gentler this time; his hands were crabbed and arthritic, a legacy of too many split knuckles and blade catches.

Shiro swooped down upon Akamaru, gesticulating joyously and speaking very loudly. He herded the traitor into the Aoi-ya and toward Kuro with a wink at Misao.

The moment he was gone, Okina squeezed Misao in a genuinely overjoyed hug. "So, is what I hear from Omasu true?"

"It's true. Megumi-sensei says I'm —"

"At last giving me great-grandchildren!" Okina closed his eyes, clearly savoring the image. "Little feet to pitter patter around the Aoi-ya. Tiny hands to teach how to hold knives. Little cheeks to pinch!"

Misao watched Aoshi-sama's fists clench for a moment. Okina seemed not to notice.

* * *

Aoshi-sama spent an hour or so closeted in deep discussion with Okina. Much as she would have liked to sit in, Misao had her own issues to handle. She and Omasu and Okon retreated to the tea room farthest from the kitchen to talk about midwives and how the household needed to change short term.

"I just don't see any way around it," Misao said, ignoring the tray of tea sweets and instead picking up some candied ginger. "I can't be seen eating at the Shirobeko. Not now that we're on our feet."

"But Misao-chan, the kitchen — I've heard of women who got sick every time they smelled food. What if Shiro chopping onions sets you off?"

"Then I throw up in the slop bucket," Misao said. "I've been fine so far. And it's supposed to get better as the child grows, right?"

Omasu and Okon traded doubtful glances, but didn't argue.

"Okay, what about midwives? Who have you found?"

Okon pulled a list from her sleeve. Omasu did too. They were both very long lists. Misao looked at each, unsurprised to discover completely different sets of names on each sheet.

Omasu pointed to a small grouping of names on her list. "These say they trained in German obstetrics. I thought you might want..."

"Perfect. I'll talk to them first."

"Right. One last thing. Have you and Aoshi-sama talked about moving to a lower floor?"

"Have we what? Why would we do that?"

Okon and Omasu exchanged glances. Okon swept her hand in an arc in front of her stomach as if to suggest how huge a pregnant woman could grow.

"In the later months, it can be difficult to move around. You'll be exhausted all the time. Some women's feet and ankles swell..."

"We haven't talked about it yet. Actually, we haven't really talked about much of anything yet." Misao heaved a sigh. "I blame our new Kashiwazaki. If he hadn't gone and... well, Aoshi-sama just didn't feel safe in Tokyo anymore, and you know how he gets."

Omasu and Okon looked over at each other again, then nodded. They'd had five years to re-learn Aoshi-sama's quirks. Only someone who didn't know him at all would expect him to discuss his wife's pregnancy in what might as well have been hostile territory.

"So about our new Kashiwazaki...?"

"A traitor," Misao said, flatly. She was not going to protect his reputation _here_. This was her home. Her child would be born here, her closest family lived here — they needed to know. They needed to be on guard.

"And Aoshi-sama let him live?"

"I don't think he feels comfortable killing in Himura's territory. Or maybe he thought he could turn the traitor's disappearance to our advantage. You'd have to ask him why. The traitor's cover is a mute, by the way."

The other women both nodded, obviously filing that information away. If they overheard the traitor talking, he was as good as dead.

"All right, with business out of the way..." Misao grinned at Okon. "What have I missed?"

* * *

Aoshis-sama never ate a large dinner after travelling. He would sit with the rest of the Kyoto cell — neither of them would have dreamed of missing dinner altogether — but he often barely touched the courses they served. Misao usually followed that habit — a lot of Aoshi-sama's habits seemed like good ones to pick up for herself, if she could — but today she was famished.

Kuro had been kind enough to re-write the night's menu to make sure there was no fish on her first day home. She wondered if Aoshi-sama had mentioned how bad the train ride had been for her, but it was just as likely Kuro's natural kindness shining through.

Misao had to stop herself from reaching for seconds of nearly everything. Toward the end of the meal, she let herself have a little more free rein. The rest of her family had moved on from eating to socializing, basically. Okina had started in on teasing comments to Aoshi-sama while Shiro and Okon grilled Akamaru, who answered silently.

Misao snuck a look at Omasu and Kuro, who were being quiet. They were being quiet because Kuro was signing funny little comments to Omasu with his hands. Misao rolled her eyes, but she couldn't quite hide the smile. She caught Aoshi-sama's eye and flicked her gaze to Kuro for a heartbeat. Aoshi-sama's mouth softened.

He would never be as close to the Kyoto cell as to the Edo Castle cell he'd lost. But he was fond of them, that much was obvious to her.

* * *

Upstairs, Misao dropped a bucket next to their bed, then flopped down with a sigh.

Aoshi-sama carefully shucked the western suit, stowing it for Omasu or Okon to launder later. He seemed more comfortable out of it.

"You'll never really go high-collar, will you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"The Aoi-ya should stay Japanese, don't you think?" Misao tugged at her hair, pulling it into a low, loose braid.

He didn't answer. Instead he settled in beside her, unravelling the loose braid to run his fingers through her hair.

"You don't think so, then."

"The Aoi-ya should become popular with informative targets," he replied. "Beyond that, I have no opinion."

It wasn't his childhood home, after all. Not that it was really hers, either — her childhood home was, in reality, the wild spaces of Japan — but she could still feel a little nostalgic about the place. She doubted Aoshi-sama became nostalgic about much at all.

"Omasu and Okon think we should move our room to a lower floor. They say when I get really pregnant, I'll probably have a harder time moving around. They're probably right."

Aoshi-sama stilled his hands in her hair, then began to re-braid it.

Oh, this was just getting... "The only thing you've said about this is 'I see' and to ask if I'm sure. What are you thinking, Aoshi?"

She dropped the honorific deliberately. He wasn't just her Okashira, he was her husband, too. The father of her child. She deserved an answer.

He looked at her for a long time. At last, he said, "The traitor has complicated matters."

Misao waited.

He didn't say anything for a little while. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Maybe he hadn't really categorized how he'd felt yet.

Just before he started speaking, he placed one hand on her upper arm, near her shoulder. "His presence means you are not safe. Our child will not be safe, even without the traitor."

She covered his hand with her own, but didn't say anything. He was right, of course. Their child would be born to a family of spies. Spies who saw their organization as a family, spies who cared about each other, but in the end they inhabited a very dark world.

At her touch, he stopped speaking, either to choose his words carefully or because he found it difficult to speak of his own feelings. Misao felt a nasty, burning twist of guilt in her ribs for asking a man of such reserve — a man she said she loved — to share his thoughts and feelings just for her sake.

His voice was soft when he spoke again. "Having children is... a risk."

He squeezed her arm, then let go, falling silent once more. The silence seemed to last a long time; she could almost see thoughts and feelings whirring around behind his eyes.

"It is also a large responsibility."

She let her hand fall away from his. "You've never run from responsibility."

"Aa." His gaze on her was intent, heavy. She could almost feel it scorch her skin. "I am aware of the risks, Misao." He paused again, finally adding. "They are worth it."

She couldn't help the smile. "Worth it?"

"Aa." He gave her a long look. It wasn't exactly quelling, but Misao got the feeling he felt he'd said enough.

Still. It was good. Even with the timing and the natural worries an onmitsu parent would feel, he thought it was good news. That, at least, was a weight off.

"I'm glad. That you think so, I mean. I know there's no way regretting anything now would do us any good, but. At least you're not unhappy with the idea of being a father." She felt her smile turn into a huge, ridiculous grin. "I still just want you to be _happy_, you know."

"Aa," he said, but he placed both his hands on her arms, squeezing slightly.

It was enough. Misao sat up a little to kiss him. He returned it, but kept his mouth light on hers, his touch gentle. She smiled against his mouth, then broke the kiss.

"It's good to be home, isn't it? Sleep well, Aoshi-sama."

"Aa. And you."

She was asleep almost before she heard his reply.

* * *

Notes:

Fun fact: the primary mon of the Sanada clan appears to have been six coins, shown online as six coins proper on a field teal, but apparently mostly _painted_ as six coins gold on a red field. Either way, it's a pretty obvious reference to the six coins required to cross the River Sanzu into the afterlife.


	4. May and June 1883

To: Himura Kaoru, Kamiya-Kasshin Asst. Master  
of Kamiya-Kasshin Dojo, Tokyo

17 May 1883

Kaoru-san,

I'm still sorry about having to leave town so suddenly. I'd explain, but it's the family business, and you know how Aoshi-sama feels about any of_that_ being written down. I can promise it was definitely important, though.

But I have really good news! I'm pregnant. I found out right before I left Tokyo. Aoshi-sama and I didn't really get a chance to talk about it until we got back home. But he says he's happy. Well, he actually says it's worth the risk, but that's about the same as him jumping up and down in joy.

Omasu-san and Okon-san are helping me find a proper licensed midwife. I haven't even really had time to call on them, yet. Our first day back was full of unpacking and spreading around the good news, and then the very next day we had a huge last minute party from somewhere up Miyagi for Aoi Matsuri. (Just because the procession doesn't happen anymore doesn't mean the festival doesn't, and there are rumors that the Emperor will let us have our festival officially again soon. I hope so; I never got to see the procession. It'd be nice if my child could.)

I know I've mentioned it before, but Aoi Matsuri is very special to us here at the _Aoi_-ya. (I love making that joke! Jiya must have named this place just for that.) Jiya still decorates with hollyhock everywhere, which of course brings in any geiko who aren't out entertaining. And that means our tea shop is full all day of geiko and people who like to be around them without having to pay. And every year some knucklehead or other always makes the mistake of talking to one, and then we have to throw him out for shouting in the teashop when she bills him for her time.

Actually, this year we only had to throw two men out and we didn't have to ban anybody. The geiko are slipping! I'm kidding, of course.

And to top it all off, our new hand, Akamaru, has been totally useless. Lucky for him he's Shiro's cousin and we won't send him away. He can't cook, his hands shake so he can't carry trays, and he can't talk so he can't greet people or show them to their rooms or anything. Well, I guess he could, but he'd creep the guests out! So we've been scrambling to find some use for him, or at least a place to put him during the day so he's out of the way and doesn't bother the guests.

So as you can see, I've just been far too busy to go talk to midwives. Aoshi-sama made me promise to go call on a few tomorrow.

Omasu-san is urging me not to be so stubborn, but I only want to talk to the ones who learned German obstetrics. Everyone says the German way is very modern. Modern has got to be the right way to go for childbirth, don't you think?

I just want to do this _right_, Kaoru-san. You've been here, so I'm sure you can understand. I want to do all the right things so I have the perfect pregnancy and the baby comes out perfect. Healthy and good-tempered and easily entertained and normal. Not sickly or cranky or something.

I haven't told Aoshi-sama or the others any of this, but at night I run my hand over my stomach and wonder just what could possibly be in there. What does it look like right now? Is it a _really_ tiny person, or is it some kind of persony-fish-thing like you sometimes hear of being stillborn? And what will it look like when it's born? The past few nights I've been really scared it's going to come out wrong and die soon, or be sickly, or even die while it's still inside of me.

I wish I could talk to Aoshi-sama about this. I know he'd just smirk at me and tell me that between us, we could make a perfect baby if I ate dirt and hung upside down from my ankles the whole time. Well, maybe not so ridiculous or in so many words, but he'd tell me that there's surely nothing I could do to hurt his child.

But inside, I think he'd be afraid of the same things. And he's got extra things to be afraid of, like people who don't like him suddenly targeting me, or birth taking me away from him. Or maybe people targeting our child once it's born. So of course I can't talk about any of that to him.

I don't know what to do, except try to have a modern pregnancy.

I'm sure I've written about all of this long enough. This letter feels so old it might come alive in the mail and eat the postman or something! Write back soon and tell me everything that's happened since I left!

Misao

* * *

To: Shinomori Misao  
of the Aoi-ya, Kyoto

_Congratulations, Misao-dono! Tell Aoshi I'm happy for both of you. I would be happy to hear from him if he cared to write, that I would. — Kenshin_

May 26, 1883

Misao,

That's wonderful news! I was going to tease you and say that I'd believe you were pregnant when I saw the baby, but I'm much too happy for both of you. So is Kenshin, as you can see. Yahiko said to tell you congratulations and to see if there's something you can eat so your baby doesn't come out cold like his father. (He suggested anko and inarizushi, but Megumi says eating sweets will make the mother fat before it makes the baby happy.)

Actually, I read that part of your letter to Megumi, she laughed and told me she was the doctor who told you, and then she insisted I let her read the rest of the letter. I can't believe she knew before anyone and didn't tell me!

On the good side, I'm sure you'll have a letter full of advice very soon. I'm sure you can imagine what the bad side of that might be. I'm just going to apologize in advance for whatever she says the next time she sees you.

Not much has changed since you left. Kenji is growing every day, of course. According to Gensai and Megumi, children do that. But to me it still feels like yesterday that he took his first step, and just last week that Kenshin and I saw him for the first time.

He hasn't said any new words yet, but he's putting together the old ones in surprising ways, and he's using words we've said almost as if they're new words of his own. The teapot and fire are "don't touch," the stray dog he isn't afraid of is "weasel," no matter how often we tell him it's a dog, and the engawa is "shoes off."

Oh, and please ask Aoshi-san if he can teach Kenshin or Yahiko that trick he did with the cherry blossoms. Kenji hasn't figured out what to call it, but he keeps grabbing things and smacking his hands together to make them disappear. Naturally he's very disappointed when they don't; we've been trying to explain that it's Aoshi-san's trick and none of us knows how it works, but you know children his age.

He's getting along with his father a little better, though. He's learned that Kenshin can climb even higher than he can, so now, whenever Kenji "want up" (new phrase! Much better than "Up up up!") he goes to him rather than climbing on his own.

I've had three new students since you left. The old ones are improving bit by bit, and one of them is even good enough to help bring the newest students up to speed. I have Yahiko keep an eye on them, just to be sure nobody learns any bad habits.

I think Yahiko will always be my best student. Maybe it's because he went through so much so young, or maybe it's just natural talent. I do know that as he's grown older, the Kamiya-Kasshin philosophy has started to suit him more and more.

I've been thinking about negotiating with the other masters of kenjutsu schools here in Tokyo. I think it's time I become an accredited master of my father's style and take an assistant master of my own. (Three guesses who.)

Yahiko has forbidden me to tell you anything about how things are going with Tsubame, but you saw them at Mt. Ueno. I'm not sure who he thinks he's fooling.

That's really all I can think of about us. Well, all that's easy to put to pen and paper. We'll have so much to talk about the next time we see each other! (And next time, bring your marriage certificate. Aoshi-san surely did not break into a government office and burn it. Not even he would be so bold.)

It's perfectly normal to worry about how your child will turn out. I was afraid, too. I thought about all the things you talked about, and the bigger inside me Kenji got, the more I worried.

That first moment Kenji was in my arms could have been yesterday, but the fear seems far away now. The thing that helped me was talking to Kenshin and Megumi about it and having some kind of plan to do everything I could for a healthy pregnancy and baby.

I think the fear will be easier to manage (it never goes away, ever; now that Kenji is born and walking, I'm torn between thinking he's perfect and being terrified he's going to get hurt) if you have a plan. And I think you do need someone you can talk to about this. Although I guess you'd have to be careful where and when you did it, if you didn't want Aoshi-san to hear and worry more.

If it were as easy as just picking up Kenji and taking the train down, I'd do it in a heartbeat. And if you need me to come down, I really will do it. (I'm sure he'd love the train for at least a few minutes.) I hope you know that you can count on all of us for whatever you need.

Tell Aoshi-san I said hello and congratulations. And please write me back as soon you can.

Kaoru

* * *

To: Himura Kaoru, Kamiya-Kasshin Asst. Master  
of Kamiya-Kasshin Dojo, Tokyo

5 June 1883

Not much time to write so I'll try to keep this short. The Aoi-ya is so busy these days! At least I'm not as tired as I used to be.

I found a midwife! I know they're all old women, but this one's pretty young, just barely over forty. Her name is Chiba Inko and she says she studied obstetrics at the Red Apricot School. I've heard good things about that place, so I'm happy.

She's got all sorts of weird ideas about things I should do and eat during pregnancy. She says if I drink enough milk I won't crave chalk or dirt. She also says that no matter how hungry I am, I should just have lots of very small meals and no big ones. She says it helps with digestion, but I haven't really had any heartburn problems yet.

Aoshi-sama basically hates her; now that he's decided she isn't an assassin or something (typical Aoshi-sama), he finds a way to be in a completely different part of the inn every time she stops by. And she stops in almost every day, at least to check on me and see how I'm doing.

Oh yes! I talked to Aoshi-sama about showing Himura that sleight of hand. He says he has no reason not to show him the next time he can. And, by the way, he didn't sneak into a government office to burn just one marriage certificate. That would be suspicious! He burned a lot of them, not just ours. (And don't forget to burn this letter once you've read it.)

I'm so glad to hear Himura and Kenji are getting along better! i've never understood why Kenji never wants his father. Don't children usually want both parents? Is this some sort of of normal thing, or just an odd little toddler quirk?

Myoujin is fooling himself if he thinks none of us know. Tell him there is no secret. We've all known for years! But it's good to hear him doing well with more responsibility in the dojo, and I'm just thrilled that you're getting more and more students. That must be so exciting!

I don't think Megumi-sensei's going to be quite so terrible as you think the next time she sees me. She seemed very worried in the letter.

Oh, and Kaoru-san? I really have no idea what you'd have to do to be accredited, but if it doesn't involve some crazy journey across the length of Japan or something, I'd say go for it. There are more than enough stuffy old man dojo masters around. You should shake things up a bit!

All right, that's all from me. Tell everyone I said hello!

Misao


	5. June 1183

Misao couldn't help a small smile as she wrapped and tucked her obi, then belted it. It was becoming more obvious with every day that she was carrying, and it was starting to feel absolutely real. There was actually someone in there.

She pulled her hair into a quick, low bun. No-nonsense but still pretty, she thought. She smiled at the thought of Aoshi-sama's expression — eyebrow quirked, lips slightly parted, eyes warm — when he'd first realized that she'd cut her hair.

He liked it shorter. He would never dream of saying so, but he ran his fingers through it more often after she cut it. Then again, running his hands through it was no longer a five minute exercise that ended up with strands of her hair knotted around his fingers.

Four pairs of feet approached the Aoi-ya.

Misao looked up at the sound, then levered herself down the stairs, keeping one hand on the wall to keep her balance. At the bottom of the stairs, she had to lean against the wall for a moment against a sudden wave of dizziness. Naturally, the muscles in her stomach started to spasm. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. It wasn't painful, but it was definitely weird. She'd talk about it with Chiba-san when she stopped by that afternoon.

The door slid open. Misao opened her eyes and widened her smile. "Welcome to the Aoi-ya—"

The four men in front of her were westerners. She dropped the pretended smile and nodded, crisply. "You're looking for Shinomori-sama?"

The shortest man gave her an uncomfortable stare, while the other three all just looked on blankly, as if they had no idea where they were or who she was.

Nobody said anything. So Misao asked again, speaking a little slower: "Are you looking for Shinomori Aoshi?"

Recognition! Three of them nodded at the name, while the fourth and shortest one — dark haired, too, she noted, with skin tinged dark olive — startled into action.

"Yes," he said. His voice sounded stilted, strained, and Misao wondered if Aoshi-sama had been talking to them in one of their own languages. "Sheno — Shino — Shinomori-san. We ask most humbly."

"Of course! He's in the office." Misao waved down Omasu and nodded in the direction of the private dining rooms. "I'll go speak to him," she told the group of foreigners. "

Aoshi-sama's office was on the second floor. She started back up the stairs, only to find Aoshi-sama on his way down.

"Your party of four is here."

"Aa."

"Omasu is showing them to one of the dining rooms. Should we feed them, or do you want us to leave you with a pot of tea?"

Aoshi-sama was quiet a moment before saying, "The tea will be fine." His eyes narrowed.

He apparently didn't want them thinking they were welcome here or calling on the Aoi-ya in the future. This was getting more and more interesting.

Misao wished she'd maybe eaten a little less in the past month. There were ways to hear what was going on in the dining rooms without going inside, of course, especially for Oniwabanshuu. But they involved either some interesting acrobatics or standing at the stairs — and Aoshi-sama would notice her newly loud heartbeat standing by the stairs long enough to listen.

So Misao kept herself busy by reviewing the letters of prospective guests. Fortunately nobody wanted to try to squeeze themselves in during the Gion festivities; they were completely booked for July. She checked Okina's calendar and wrote a few replies, then sealed them and stuck them in the outbox.

She had just closed the door to Okina's little paperwork hideaway when she heard the shouting start. It wasn't in Japanese, though she couldn't have named the language. German, maybe? Or maybe English. All his words seemed to end with some strange growling sound.

The muscle spasms started again. Misao took a deep breath and tried to force her stomach to relax, but the weird fluttering didn't quit. So she ignored it, making her way to the dining room where Aoshi-sama was entertaining his guests.

She slid the door open unnoticed to find Aoshi-sama and one of the foreigners standing facing each other. This one had curly red hair and she was pretty sure he was the tallest. Also the fattest. He wasn't actually taller than Aoshi-sama, though he was using his bulk to try and loom. He pointed directly at Aoshi-sama's chest and drew in a breath to shout something else.

Aoshi-sama's gaze flicked to her. His eyes widened for a split second, though he got his expression under control quickly. He gave her a hard stare.

Great. She was supposed to ignore the man screaming gibberish, who would of course be disturbing other guests. Even if they'd never admit to being disturbed.

Aoshi-sama's long look drew the rude man's attention to her.

She raised an eyebrow, tried to summon the sharp, withering, coolness that Okon sometimes used to shame idiots into being a little less stupid. "Just _what_ could be so important that you must _shout_ in my dining room?"

The redhead blinked and looked to the shortest man, who was still sitting down. The short one supplied something in their weird growly language. He and the redhead exchanged more words, while Aoshi-sama seemed to become frostier and frostier.

After a few moments the redhead and the short man looked back to her. The short guy said, sounding a little pole-axed, "We apologize most humbly for the disturbance, hostess."

"Good," she said, clapping her hands together once. "Then no more shouting?"

"No more shouting," he replied.

Misao bowed and left the room. She closed the door behind her, pressed her hand to her chest as if that would calm the beat of her heart. She tried to soothe way the sudden irrational fear that Aoshi-sama would be uspet with her or that she'd just stuck her nose into something she really shouldn't have.

The hostess of an inn should comment when her husband's guests are being loud. It wouldn't look right if she didn't. She had done that and left.

Now, if only that weird little flutter would stop.

* * *

Chiba Inko was beautiful for a woman over forty. She had aged gracefully, the lines at her eyes and gray in her hair surprisingly elegant. Misao thought she must have had the kind of stunning, glamorous looks of Okon and Megumi when she was younger. But what had drawn Misao to this particular licensed midwife, out of all the others, was her no-nonsense attitude. It put her very much in mind of Megumi while she was working.

And Chiba-san had good hands. They were warm, faintly lined, but not arthritic. She had a good grip, but she was usually gentle. And she wasn't pushy.

Today, she pressed three fingers against Misao's bulging stomach. Her eyebrows had knitted in thought.

"Fluttering?"

"Like some sort of weird muscle spasms, but whatever it is, I can't... I can't control it." Although honestly, that last part could have been about the rest of her body, too. It felt like she was spiralling out of her own control, sometimes.

Chiba-san looked down, mentally evaluating. "And when did you say your last cycle was?"

"Five or six months ago by now." At her midwife's dour look, Misao shrugged. "They're not regular. It's actually pretty normal for me to skip two months straight."

"Because you don't weigh hardly a thing," Chiba-san groused. "You'd better fatten yourself up after this baby if you want another to follow anytime soon."

Misao almost said she didn't _want_ to be pregnant again soon, because she didn't want to be pregnant ever again. Then she caught herself.

"Is it crazy not to want to be pregnant again too soon?"

"Crazy, hah! When you're delivered of this one, you'll swear you never want another child." Chiba-san patted her stomach. "No, it won't be until later, when your little one's crawling around and mouthing off, that you'll remember how sweet they are as babies and want another."

Misao had no idea what to say to that. Kaoru-san had certainly never mentioned it, though she did sometimes say Kenji had been easier before he could climb fifteen feet and then become afraid to climb down.

Chiba-san patted her stomach again. This time it fluttered somewhere deep inside and Misao pressed a hand to her stomach, wishing it would stop.

"The spasms?"

"Yes," Misao said, gasping to find her breath.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No."

Chiba-san smiled. Her mouth curved gracefully, lips peeling back to reveal just the briefest glimpse of teeth. "Then that's your child kicking."

"Kicking?"

"Or possibly moving around, swimming about. You don't imagine they just stay put, do you? I'm sure you've heard of a pregnant woman complaining of the child moving around?"

"Well, yes, but..." She stared down at her stomach. "This is what it feels like?"

"Oh, you just wait until it completely takes over your belly. You'll know every move it makes. When it gets big enough, you'll see the outline of its hands and feet."

_Don't turn green. Don't turn green._ "That sounds disgusting."

"More inconvenient than anything. It can get painful at times." Chiba-san's smile turned a little fond. "You'll see soon enough, I'm sure."

* * *

If there was one place in the world Aoshi-sama would speak freely and comfortably (about things that had nothing to do with combat, martial arts, or criminal weirdness), it was their shared bedroom at the Aoi-ya. So, when Aoshi-sama finally joined her in bed, she asked him about earlier.

"It was necessary," he said, softly, against her ear. He rested his hands on her hips. "But don't engage them again."

"Is that an order?"

"Aa."

"So what was he yelling about, anyway?" Hard to imagine anybody met Aoshi-sama and thought they could _shout_ at him.

"Money." Aoshi-sama blew against her ear, apparently just to make her squirm, and said, "It won't happen again."

That wasn't an apology for his guests disturbing the Aoi-ya. Well, not just an apology. She had no doubt he was as irritated as she that his guests had thought they could do that, never mind show up here in the first place.

But what he was really saying was that the situation was under control, the matter was closed, and it was time for her to drop it.

She sighed a little, then gently placed her hands over his. He didn't object or twitch his hands away, so she carefully slid them from her hips to her stomach.

He breathed out slowly against the back of her neck.

"Did you know your child doesn't want to just sleep and grow? It's already on the move. I think it inherited your perfectionism."

He went still. "Is it... kicking you?"

"I think it's just swimming around. If it _is_ kicking, I guess it must still be too small to really feel."

"Perhaps it inherited your energy."

His hands pressed down against her stomach a moment. The fluttering started up again almost immediately and she actually had to laugh.

"I think it wants you to stop squishing its house, Aoshi-sama."

"Oh?" he asked. And then he pushed down again, resulting in a flurry of spasms.

"Oh, it's fun for _you_ to tease the baby. You don't have to feel it swim around or kick or whatever it's doing."

"Aa," he said, but he slid his hands back to her hips.

She laughed again and rolled over to kiss him.

He was playful — well, as playful as he ever was — that night.

* * *

And gone again by morning. He left five strips of purple silk on their pillow. She gathered them up and sighed, then hauled herself to her feet.

Five scraps of silk. So he fully expected to be gone five days. Misao eyed his side of the bed. Was it crazy to miss him already? Was that just pregnancy messing with her mind, or was it because she wasn't used to being apart from him anymore?

No use standing around wondering. Leaving straight lines of silk was almost as good as a promise; if he hadn't had any idea when she could expect him back, he wouldn't have been so specific.

* * *

The next few days were a strange blur. The days passed quickly; there was always something to do at the Aoi-ya, some guest in need of something or some ruckus to quiet down or a room to clean. The baby was so active that she almost imagined it as a squid or jellyfish, zooming aimlessly around inside her.

Nights, though, seemed to go much slower. She lay awake for hours that seemed endless, only to realize that she'd been drifting in and out of sleep.

She never had much liked sleeping alone.

The last night before Aoshi-sama was supposed to be back, Misao woke alone to the empty bed. The baby was kicking, and it felt less like a flutter and more like, well, a very, very, very tiny foot.

She pulled her blankets back over her head, listening in the silence of the Aoi-ya, but there were no new heartbeats. She thought about rolling over and going back to sleep. Aoshi-sama would be back within a day, there was no need to be unsettled by an empty bed and the empty darkness.

But she was hungry. For something chewy and warm. Misao thought a moment before deciding: bubuzuke. Bubuzuke with gari on top. Oooh, or gari and pickled cucumber.

She heaved herself out of bed and trundled down to the kitchen. She had to stop herself from sneaking into the asazuke Kuro had left out to pickle for the next day, instead quickly boiling water so she could steam some rice and make tea.

When it came down to it, bubuzuke was a quick treat. Tea over rice and then throw in gari and pickled cucubmers — kasuzuke cucumbers, the ones for the household. Delicious.

She was just beginning to dig in when she heard movement in another of the rooms downstairs. A heartbeat, too. Misao set her bowl down and reached for one of the kitchen knives. As she reached, she tilted her head, listening hard.

She stopped reaching for the knife, but couldn't stop her smile. "Aoshi-sama?"

The other person on the ground floor stopped moving, then began moving closer to her. Within moments, Aoshi-sama entered the soft glow of her lantern in the kitchen.

He was wearing his white coat with his Oniwabanshuu uniform. She ran her hands along the white leather for a moment before she tugged at the coat's gold lapels. Aoshi-sama obliged her, bending to press his mouth against hers. His mouth was warm, insistent; she got the feeling he'd have pulled her in for a kiss even if she hadn't asked for one.

He broke the kiss — leaving her flushed and dizzy — and pulled her close. He was probably listening to her heartbeat, or maybe her breath rhythm; just assuring himself that she was there, that he was home.

"You've missed me," she teased. "How far did you go?"

Aoshi-sama said nothing, only let go of her and stepped back to survey the kitchen. So she sighed, rolling her eyes a little, and pointed to her bowl of bubuzuke. "Would you like some?"

"You went to the kitchen alone in the hour of the ox." His tone had gone almost entirely flat. The only sign that it was a question was the fact that he was stating the obvious. His shoulders looked tense, and that made Misao tense a little in response.

"Well, it's not like I could clap my hands and food would appear. Is something wrong?"

"In the future, wake me if you need anything." The tension worsened, seemed to weight the air between them.

"I couldn't do that!" Wake Aoshi-sama? Ask Aoshi-sama to do something for her when she could just as easily get up and do it on her own? The very idea seemed absurd and selfish and grossly self-indulgent.

"You can and should." His tone had shifted from flat to matter-of-fact. He was prepared to make this an order, if he thought she wouldn't comply with a request.

"Aoshi-sama, I don't want to impose. Isn't it... isn't it selfish to just throw everything on you when I can still do things for myself?"

She had no illusions that eventually, pregnancy would render her close to useless. The swollen feet and ankles, the swollen stomach, the changed balance — she wasn't exactly looking forward to it. She'd heard of dizzy spells and headaches and forgetfulness, too. But for now, she wasn't helpless.

"It is not an imposition." His eyes glinted dully and he returned to the flat tone from before. "With the traitor residing here and your chosen midwife... questionable, you should not wander alone at night."

He still hadn't decided to trust Chiba-san. Of course he hadn't. He didn't trust easily, and now he had a few extra reasons to be suspicious of everyone and everything.

Misao almost opened her mouth to keep the discussion going, but stopped and thought. Aoshi-sama had a lot on his mind and all the reasons a paranoid ninja needed to be extra cautious. Absurd as the idea seemed, would it actually _hurt_ her to rely on him a little? The way the fear would hurt him?

"Alright, Aoshi-sama." She smiled for him. "You win. I'll stay safely cooped up in our room after dark."

"And if the traitor tries to enter when I'm not in?"

"I'll wake the house. I promise."

"Good." Some of the tension that had held him so upright and thrummed between them seemed to ebb away. If he were anyone else, Misao was sure he'd have been sighing in relief.

"Ugh, now I'm _sleepy_ and hungry." She rolled her eyes again, softening her complaint with a wry smile. "Why'd you have to tell me what time it was?"

Aoshi-sama raised an eyebrow at her. She laughed, unable to stop herself.

"I'm glad you're home," she told him.

"Aa," he replied. "Eat, Misao."

* * *

Aoshi-sama slept heavily that night. He still woke, immediately reaching for his kodachi, when she had to crawl out of bed and go to the bathroom, but the moment she was back with him he woudl simply pull her close and fall right back asleep.

Misao woke before he did for once. She watched him for a moment or so, privately marveling — just like every other time she'd seen him asleep — at how slack his face went. No subtle tension, no eloquently curved brow or stoic frown. He looked like a sleeping thirty-one year old who wasn't having a nightmare.

Another doting housewife might have smoothed her hand along her husband's face to wake him, or perhaps pressed a kiss to his brow if they were very fond of each other. Misao simply heaved herself up from the futon into a standing position. Aoshi-sama woke instantly.

Later, when she was dressing for the day and he was eyeing his own clothes chest, she asked, "Am I allowed to ask where you've been?"

"Arranging a business meeting." At that, his gaze flicked down to his hands, then the door, then her. His eyes widened a fraction for a second before he added, "It should happen within two weeks."

There was something to his tone. Misao couldn't quite put her finger on it: it wasn't shifty, or guilty. But there was a subtle tension there, like he expected her to be unhappy about it or something.

"Does this business associate speak Japanese like a normal person, or is he going to shriek foreign gibberish in one of my dining rooms?"

Aoshi-sama was silent for a long, long moment. The silence stretched itself and started to weigh the room down.

Misao could feel the dismay start to build. The feeling must have affected her heartbeat, because the strange, feather-light kicking sensation started up again. It almost tickled.

"I'm expecting Saitou," Aoshi-sama said at last.


End file.
